


Pressing Matters

by yuechu



Category: DOUBLE DECKER! ダグ&キリル | Double Decker! Doug & Kirill (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 10:10:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17916764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuechu/pseuds/yuechu
Summary: Kirill, drunk, just blurted it out one night.“Does Doug fuck?” he asked.





	Pressing Matters

**Author's Note:**

> doug and kirill are so lucky they're both morosexual

Kirill, drunk, just blurted it out one night.

“Does Doug fuck?” he asked.

Max had been falling asleep with her head on Yuri’s shoulder. She blinked and sat up a little. Kay had gone to the bathroom, and Apple was getting them all a round of water from the bar. They weren’t celebrating anything in particular. It had just become something of an unspoken tradition for Seven-O to drink at King’s Kane on Friday nights.

Sophie sipped her champagne and said nothing. She hadn’t heard Kirill, or she was choosing to ignore him.

Next to her, and across the table from Kirill, Deana spat out a mouthful of beer with enough force that some of it got in Kirill’s hair.

“What did you just say?” she demanded.

Kirill had to think about it for a second. What _did_ he just say? They had been drinking for four, maybe five hours. He’d had a number of drinks, a number he couldn’t quite remember. His face and chest were warm, and there was a pleasant hum in his head. When his brain finally replayed his last three words for him, his face grew exponentially warmer.

But, well. He’d said what he’d said. It wasn’t like he could take it back now, so he may as well get some answers. For some reason, it seemed important. He needed to know, and he needed to know now.

“You know what I said,” he grumbled, with his lips against his glass. He finished the last of his drink and set down the tumbler. “Does he?”

Deana slapped the table. “Are you telling us you don’t know if Doug fucks?”

Kay squeaked, returning to the table at just the wrong moment. She froze next to her chair, like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to sit back down or walk away quickly. Kirill dropped his head into his hands and groaned as another wave of mortification rolled through him.

This one didn’t last long either. He was thinking about it now, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Because he didn’t know. He didn’t have a clue. He had been Doug’s partner for close to a year, and still he could only guess at what Doug’s personal life was like.

“How would I know?” He knew he sounded sad and petulant and a little pathetic. He felt a little pathetic, too. “I’ve never seen him go on a date. He doesn’t talk to me about that sort of thing.”

“I wasn’t asking if he talked to you about his sex life,” Deana said.

“She thought you were his sex life,” Sophie supplied.

Kirill jerked upright with a shocked, indignant squawk. “She what? Deana, you what?”

“We all kind of assumed you were together,” Max said, matter-of-factly.

Next to her, Yuri nodded.

Kirill looked at each of them in turn. Even Kay looked a little sheepish, like she’d thought the same.

“Why,” Kirill said.

“You’re grossly into him,” Deana said. “He tolerates you. How are you not fucking?”

“He _tolerates_ me?” Kirill scrunched up his face. He was offended. He should have been offended. But maybe he was also a little pleased. “Did he say that? Did he say he tolerates me?”

Deana grimaced. “Dude, needy. Doug is not into that.”

“But I guess we know less than we thought about what Doug is into,” Max said.

“Wait.” Kirill leaned forward abruptly. Kay was still looking a little embarrassed to be within ten feet of him, and in his peripheral vision Kirill could see Apple making his way back from the bar with a tray of glasses. He didn’t need any more witnesses to this trainwreck of a conversation, but he had to know. “If you all thought Doug was having sex with me—”

Apple, reaching their table, also squeaked.

“—and I’m not having sex with Doug, does that mean none of us know anything about his sex life? No one knows if he dates? If he has a type? If he even likes people like that?”

Deana looked at Max. Max glanced at Yuri. Yuri turned to Sophie.

Sophie drained her champagne and set down the flute. “Why don’t you ask Derick?”

It was late. Well past midnight, creeping towards one. Even at a more reasonable hour, this would have been an incredibly invasive line of questioning. But to Kirill, drunk, it seemed like a perfectly rational idea. Derick had been Doug’s partner for much longer than Kirill. Derick would know.

“Yes.” He nodded, already digging into his pocket for his phone. “Yes, I will.”

“What, right now?” Max asked. “Don’t you think it’s—”

Deana shushed her. “I want to see how this plays out.”

“I want to go home?” Apple announced abruptly. He sounded unsure, but he had already dumped the tray onto the table and started inching away from them. “Kay? Do you want to—”

“Leave? Yes, please, right now.” Kay nodded rapidly as she spoke. “Max, Yuri, Sophie. Have a great night. Deana, take a cab home. Kirill… um, good luck?”

Kirill was already dialing.

 

By the time the call connected on the sixth ring, Kay and Apple were long gone. Deana had bullied Kirill into putting the call on speakerphone. Even Max had shifted a little closer, with a faintly curious look on her face.

They all heard it when the dial tone gave way to a soft rustle of something like fabric.

“Derick?” Kirill said, urgently.

There was a yawn. “Kirill?”

“Oh, Val.” Kirill leaned forward, staring intently at the phone. “Can you put Derick on? I have to ask him something.”

“Kirill, it’s—” A pause. “—late. We were sleeping.”

Deana stabbed the mute button on Kirill’s phone. “Valery is fucking Derick?”

“Uh, yeah? Well, they’re dating. I never asked for details.” Kirill cocked his head to the side. “Is this news?”

“Why the fuck do I know so much less about everyone’s sex life than I thought I did,” Deana said, mostly to herself. She didn’t move to stop Kirill when he reached out to unmute his phone.

“Can you wake him up?” he asked. “It’s important.”

“I’m awake.” This was Derick. He did sound awake, but only just barely. “What is it? Did something happen?”

Kirill took a second to think about the most delicate way to phrase his question, but he had never been a particularly delicate person. Ultimately, he decided to just double down on his previous mistake and asked, “Does Doug fuck?”

Deana snorted, mid-drink. A considerable amount of beer went up her nose.

“Does Doug—” Derick stopped. “Are we on speakerphone?”

Deana wheezed, pinching her nose. “Answer the question, Ross.”

“The question. _That_ question? Why is—I mean, do you have any idea what time—Kirill, aren’t you dating Doug?”

Kirill frowned. “Derick, seriously? You too?”

“I kind of thought that too,” Valery murmured.

“ _Valery_ ,” Kirill gasped, betrayed.

“Derick. Derick, focus up.” Deana snapped her fingers at the phone. “Does that mean you don’t know?”

“About whether or not Doug—uh, no. No idea.”

Kirill was starting to feel a little hysterical, but at the same time a little relieved. It sucked that he knew next to nothing about Doug’s personal life, even a year into their partnership, but at least no one else seemed to know anything either.

“Absolutely useless,” Deana muttered. She looked Kirill in the eye, expression solemn all of a sudden. “There’s no way around it. You’re going to have to ask Doug.”

“I’m going to have to ask Doug,” Kirill agreed.

“Right now,” Deana said.

“Yes. Right now.”

Derick cleared his throat. “Uh, guys? I don’t think that would be—”

Deana hung up on him. “Go ask him and text me right after. I can’t live like this.”

“I get why Kirill is so invested,” Max said. “But why do you care?”

“I need to know things, Max. You know this about me.”

“She did put a tracker on our bike to find out where we lived,” Yuri said.

Deana rolled her eyes, unrepentant. “Because you wouldn’t invite me over for dinner.”

“If we’re not talking about Doug anymore,” Kirill said, “I’m going to leave.”

Sophie had poured herself some more champagne. She was sipping her drink, a contemplative look on her face.

As Kirill made his way to the exit, he could swear he heard her say, “For the record, I still think he’s dating Doug.”

 

In the back of a cab, after rattling off Doug’s address to the driver, Kirill finally took a moment to think about why he was so invested in whether or not Doug had an active sex life. Why he needed to know, and why he needed to know that night.

Yes, he was grossly into Doug. He hadn’t even tried to deny it when Deana accused him of that, because there would have been no point. His crush was incredibly transparent, and he was pretty sure even Doug was aware of it.

That was just one reason Kirill had never brought it up. And he never planned on bringing it up. If Doug knew and didn’t say anything, it had to mean he wasn’t interested. If he wasn’t interested, Kirill wasn’t going to go out of his way to make things awkward between them. He would get over it sooner or later, and he would be happy with being Doug’s partner and—hopefully, eventually—friend.

So what was he after, really? What did he think would come of knocking on Doug’s door to blurt out an extremely unprofessional question? Why did he drink so much that night? When did his stomach start twisting itself into knots?

And what was it that he really wanted to know?

He was only a few blocks away from the bar when he dozed off in the back seat of the cab. The next thing he knew, the cabbie’s gruff voice was jostling him awake and the cafe below Doug’s apartment was right outside the window. Kirill paid his fare and tumbled out onto the sidewalk, feeling considerably more sober in the cold night air.

More sober and increasingly less convinced that this was a good idea.

But the sense of urgency that itched at his skin, demanding answers, was still there. It was still strong, and it was enough to make Kirill climb the stairs and pound on Doug’s door.

Doug had gone home early that night, after having just one drink with them at King’s Kane. He’d been shot, a few times, during their last encounter with one of the supersoldiers Nikai had sent after Kirill. His shield coat stopped the bullets, but the impact was still enough to bruise a few of his ribs.

He must have been awake when Kirill knocked. It didn’t take long at all for him to answer the door.

His hair was a mess, mussed from sleep. He looked tired, but amused. He was only wearing boxers and a soft gray t-shirt that Kirill remembered borrowing the last time he’d slept over.

Kirill suddenly felt a little winded. He was pretty sure he wheezed.

And it was, all at once, abundantly clear why he was here. He didn’t want to know whether or not Doug had a sex life. Well, he did. But that wasn’t all he wanted.

“Derick said you might be on your way here,” Doug said. There was a rasp to his voice, like he hadn’t been awake for long. “He said you had a question for me.”

“Yeah,” Kirill breathed. His gaze skated over Doug’s clavicle, exposed by the wide collar of his shirt. His fingers twitched, wanting—something. Something he had wanted for months, for…

Oh. So that was why. The reason for the urgency, the reason he needed to know _tonight_.

Tomorrow, it would be exactly a year since he became Doug’s partner. A year of looking and wanting and trying to get closer to Doug. Trying and trying and making no progress.

Kirill didn’t want a whole year to pass like that.

“Did Derick…” Kirill swallowed thickly. Then, because he wasn’t a coward, he made himself look Doug in the eye. “Did Derick say what the question was?”

Doug, the bastard, had the gall to smile. “He did.”

“So, then—” Kirill curled and uncurled his hands quickly, digging his nails into his palms to give himself an extra shot of courage. “Do you?”

“No,” Doug said.

Kirill’s mouth dropped open.

“Not at one in the morning, I do not.” Doug stepped back, leaving the door open. “Come inside, Kirill. I’m going back to sleep.”

For a moment, Kirill just kept staring. He stared as Doug walked back into his apartment and climbed back into bed. He stared, at nothing, as he heard Doug shifting, rearranging the covers.

Then, because he didn’t have any better ideas and because there was nothing he wanted more, he followed Doug inside.

 

Kirill had woken up in Doug’s bed, with Doug, at least a dozen times before. Usually when he stayed over after they spent all day poring over case files Doug had brought home, Doug rolled out a futon or made Kirill do it. But sometimes neither of them could be bothered, and Doug’s bed was just wide enough to fit the two of them.

This was, however, the first time Kirill woke up in Doug’s bed, with Doug, after coming to his apartment in the middle of the night to ask him about his sex life. Kirill had been drunk, but apparently not drunk enough. He could remember the events of the previous night with excruciating clarity, even through the dull pain of his hangover.

He had fallen asleep on his side, with his back to Doug. The covers had slipped down to pool at their hips sometime during the night, and Doug had one arm thrown over Kirill’s waist. This position was familiar too, but Kirill’s pulse still quickened at the casual intimacy.

Kirill screwed his eyes shut tight and counted to ten in his head before peeking over his shoulder at Doug.

Doug was awake. He was awake, alert, and looking at Kirill. He was smiling that awful smile of his, the one that was somehow a little fond and a little mean at the same time.

“Ask me now,” he said. He sounded like he had been awake for a while.

“Oh, god.” Kirill quickly turned back around, squeezed his eyes shust again, and groaned. “Can we skip the merciless teasing and move on to the part where we forget this ever happened?”

“That’s not what you wanted to ask me.”

“Doug,” Kirill whined. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Ask me,” Doug said.

“I’m going to throw up,” Kirill lied.

“Alright,” Doug said. “I’ll answer anyway.”

Kirill didn’t know what he was expecting. He didn’t know what he had expected when he came to Doug’s apartment or when he called Derick or when he blurted out the worst question in the world in front of all his coworkers.

But he knew he wasn’t expecting Doug to grip his shoulder, roll him onto his back, and kiss him on the mouth.

Kirill had spent a considerable amount of time over the past year thinking about what kissing Doug would be like. In his head, in his dreams, the first time wasn’t like this. Usually, he was the one kissing Doug. He’d imagined he would be a little awkward about it, a little clumsy. He would be unsure and nervous, and a moment would pass before Doug kissed back. Doug would be more sure of himself than Kirill, but there would still be something tentative about the kiss. Because it would be their first kiss, and first kisses were supposed to be a little tentative.

This wasn’t like that at all. There was nothing tentative about the way Doug kissed him now.

Kirill gasped, sucking in a sharp breath, and Doug slid his tongue into his mouth. He leaned over Kirill, his weight solid and warm against Kirill’s chest. Kirill grabbed onto the front of Doug’s shirt. Not pushing, not pulling, just holding him there.

Doug kissed him slowly and thoroughly, without a hint of hesitation. He threaded his fingers through Kirill’s hair and tipped back Kirill’s head, licking deeper into his mouth. He kissed Kirill like he’d done it before, dozens or hundreds of times. It was lazy and familiar in a way that stole Kirill’s breath away.

His fingers spasmed, curled tight in Doug’s shirt, and he whined against Doug’s mouth as his brain finally caught up to the present. He strained up, desperate to kiss back, like it would be his only chance. In his haste, his teeth clipped Doug’s lower lip. Doug huffed, drew back, and—softly—caught Kirill’s bottom lip between his own teeth.

He kissed Kirill a second time, just a quick, chaste press of their spit-slicked lips. He kissed Kirill a third time, deep enough to make him melt against the sheets. Kirill was starting to feel lightheaded. He sucked at Doug’s tongue, clung to his shoulders, ran his hands down the planes of his back. Doug had settled between his legs at some point, and now Kirill’s thighs were braced tight against Doug’s hips. He pulled at Doug and pressed his own hips up, eager to touch everywhere he could reach.

Doug huffed again, insufferably calm and amused. He dragged his mouth over the corner of Kirill’s lips, over Kirill’s jaw, and down the column of his throat. “So needy,” he murmured. “I’m into that.”

_Oh_ , Kirill thought distantly. _This is going to kill Deana_.

Then Doug sat back on his knees and pulled off his own shirt, and Kirill wasn’t thinking much of anything anymore. He could swear he blacked out for a second. His mouth went dry, and he clutched at the bedsheets. He had woken up half hard, and now his cock was full and straining against his pants.

He’d seen Doug shirtless before, but it had never been like this. Doug’s mouth was shiny and red, and his eyes were hot and heavy-lidded as he looked down at Kirill. His gaze dipped from Kirill’s mouth to Kirill’s throat, then trailed even lower, to the stretch of pale skin that showed where Kirill’s shirt had rucked up. He hooked one finger under the hem of Kirill’s shirt and tugged it up even higher, until it was bunched under Kirill’s arms.

“Hold this for me,” Doug said. His fingers were dangerously, tantalizingly close to Kirill’s lips.

Kirill was practically vibrating with arousal. His head was full of cotton, but he didn’t hesitate to catch the thin fabric of his shirt between his teeth. Doug pressed his thumb to the corner of Kirill’s mouth for a second before he smiled, crooked and satisfied.

He leaned back in to sear a line of kisses down Kirill’s chest, from the dip between his collarbones to his abdomen, just above his navel. Kirill moaned and lifted his head to watch, dazed. Doug glanced up, caught him looking, and flicked his thumb over one of Kirill’s nipples.

Kirill gasped and writhed, rutting up to seek more friction. Doug drew back enough to thumb open the button of the pants Kirill had slept in. His eyes darkened, and a pleased hum rumbled up from the back of his throat at the urgent sound Kirill made when Doug’s knuckles grazed his erection.

“Doug,” Kirill breathed, with the hem of his shirt still clenched between his teeth. “Are you gonna—”

“Yeah,” Doug said, casually.

He took his time peeling off Kirill’s pants, tossing them over the side of the bed before running his hands up Kirill’s calves and thighs. Kirill’s cock twitched at the sensation of skin to skin contact, and he bit out a sharp yelp when Doug laced his fingers at the small of his back and yanked him upright.

Sitting up brought him face to face with Doug, and Kirill was too stunned by the intense green of Doug’s eyes to remember to keep his mouth closed around his shirt. Doug didn’t seem to mind when his shirt fluttered back down over his chest. He only tipped his head and kissed Kirill again, sliding his tongue past Kirill’s parted lips.

This time, Kirill didn’t waste any time kissing back. He slung his arms over Doug’s shoulders as Doug sat back on his knees, pulling Kirill into his lap. Kirill groaned as the new position brought his cock flush against Doug’s stomach. It was almost enough, even through his briefs, to make him lose his mind.

Doug tipped him back against the sheets again, his lips still sealed over Kirill’s. He took ahold of Kirill’s hips and hauled him close as he settled between Kirill’s legs, close enough for Kirill to feel the press of his answering erection, hot and hard, against his ass.

Kirill was pretty sure his vision whited out.

“Stay put,” Doug murmured. His lips moved against Kirill’s as they formed the words, and Kirill wouldn’t have gotten out of that bed even if his life depended on it.

He probably couldn’t have moved, even if he’d tried. His legs had gone all rubbery, and he could barely breathe. When Doug pulled back, reaching for something, Kirill flung one arm over his own eyes and did his best to—process.

Doug was about to have sex with him.

Was Doug about to have sex with him?

“Oh my god,” Kirill whispered, to himself. His eyes were closed, and still hidden behind his arm, so he only felt it when Doug shifted to lean over him again. He pressed his face harder against the crook of his elbow, with a strangled noise caught somewhere between a moan and a whimper, as Doug dragged his underwear down and off.

“Pretty,” Doug remarked.

Without any more warning than that, he wrapped a hand around Kirill’s cock, circling the head with his thumb. Kirill exhaled like all the air had been punched from his lungs, and his hips jerked up of their own accord. His arm dropped away, and his eyes found Doug’s. His face flamed with a searing heat that bled down his neck, all the way to his shoulders, as Doug started to jerk him off with slow, lazy strokes.

Doug was watching him raptly. His gaze dipped to Kirill’s lips as they parted with a stuttered moan, and Kirill was so caught up watching Doug watch him that it took him a few seconds to realize Doug had gotten rid of his own boxers, too.

When he did notice, Kirill heard himself moan again. Louder, longer. He wasn’t a virgin. He _wasn’t_. But Doug’s cock, flushed and heavy with arousal and thicker than Kirill’s own, was easily the most erotic thing he’d ever seen.

Then, like he was determined to change Kirill’s mind about that, Doug shoved him higher up the bed, slid down, and swallowed Kirill’s cock.

Kirill cried out, sharp and unintelligible. It was too much, too sudden. Doug’s mouth was hot and wet, and Kirill practically sobbed as he dragged his tongue up the underside of his cock. Doug took his time with this, too. He bobbed his head a few times, slowly. Like he wanted this to last, or like he just wanted Kirill to suffer.

But he didn’t drag it too long. He pulled off with a _pop_ , pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the side of Kirill’s cock, and let go of his hold on Kirill’s thighs. He stayed where he was, with Kirill’s legs hooked over his shoulders, as he thumbed open a bottle of lube he’d fished out of the nightstand.

“Okay?” he asked, once he’d slicked up his fingers. His voice was low, and his lips grazed Kirill’s inner thigh before and after he spoke.

Kirill shivered at the chill when Doug ran his knuckles over his balls, but he was already nodding fervently. “ _Please_.”

And because it was Doug, because he was always _like_ this, he was slow about fingering Kirill open as well. He teased at the rim of Kirill’s hole with one finger, barely pressing in to the first knuckle before pulling back out. Kirill was grateful, at first, for the time to get used to the stretch. He did this to himself, sometimes, but lately he hadn’t exactly had time to be creative about jerking off.

He was panting by the time Doug worked one of his long fingers in, but the pain was faint and fleeting. By the time Doug crooked that finger inside of him, Kirill’s head was spinning with how _awesome_ it felt. Doug kept mouthing at his thighs and his cock, kissing everywhere he could reach as he fucked Kirill lazily.

But then it wasn’t enough. Doug was being diabolically slow. He was being _mean_. Kirill could practically feel himself aging, and he’d just opened his mouth to complain when Doug slid in a second finger. He stroked over Kirill’s prostate like he knew exactly where it was, and Kirill yelled.

He lost track of time as Doug pumped his fingers in and out, eventually adding a third. Kirill heard himself mumbling a string of curses and pleas with his face half-buried against Doug’s pillow. It was a nonsensical sort of babble, flowing from his lips without conscious thought.

But, finally, Doug seemed to get the message. He pulled out, wiped his fingers on the sheets, and sat back to roll on a condom. Then he paused, for just a moment. Long enough for Kirill to change his position, or to change his mind.

Kirill had never liked him more.

He hooked one leg back over Doug’s shoulder and all but kicked him with his heel, wanting him closer, wanting him _inside_ already. Doug tipped forward, catching himself on one arm. He cupped Kirill’s jaw with his other hand, and pressed a kiss to his brow. Just above one eye, then above the other.

Then he slicked up his cock, kissed Kirill’s cheek, and slid in all at once.

Kirill arched his back and groaned at the stretch, but Doug had been so insufferably thorough about opening him up that any pain he felt was negligible. He just felt full, and good, and a little like he might die at any second. It was _too_ good, the way Doug felt inside of him.

And Doug hadn’t even started to move.

When he did, he started with slow, shallow thrusts. He smoothed his hands up and down Kirill’s sides as he moved, and he caught each of Kirill’s breathy gasps and moans with a kiss. Kirill raked his nails over Doug’s shoulder blades and squeezed Doug’s sides with his thighs, reluctant to let him move back even an inch.

“I need—” Kirill couldn’t find the words. He could hardly find any words. “ _Doug_.”

Doug hummed and stroked a hand down Kirill’s thigh, lifting that leg over his shoulder. “I know.”

He wrapped a hand around Kirill’s cock, jerking him off as he started to fuck him with longer, deeper thrusts. He was finally breathing harder, like he was just as affected as Kirill.

Kirill flattened one hand over Doug’s heart to feel for his pulse and the quickening rise and fall of his chest. He stared at Doug, through his lashes and the hair falling over his eyes, until he had to drop his head back and squeeze his eyes shut. It was overwhelming. Somehow, Doug knew how to fuck him just right.

Doug thumbed over the head of Kirill’s cock, mouthed and bit at his neck, and thrust into him harder with each even stroke. Kirill chanted Doug’s name like it was the only word he knew, and he didn’t have the time—or the presence of mind—to call out any warning before he came.

His orgasm rocked through him, and his whole body convulsed. He couldn’t remember anything ever feeling this intense, and he could only wrap his arms around Doug’s shoulders and hold on as Doug buried his face in the crook of Kirill’s neck with a long groan of his own. His thrusts came quicker now, growing a little more erratic until he bottomed out inside Kirill and stilled.

Kirill pushed his fingers through Doug’s hair as Doug let out a shattered, shaky breath against his shoulder. For a long moment, neither of them moved. But Doug’s weight was growing heavy against Kirill’s chest, and Kirill’s come was sticky between them.

When Doug finally pulled out, Kirill sighed. He felt fucked out and satisfied, and he didn’t have the first clue where to go from where. He didn’t want to go anywhere. He didn’t want this, whatever this was, to end.

“Do you, uh.” His voice was hoarse, wrecked. Kirill struggled to even out his breathing as Doug shifted next to him, removing and tying off the condom before chucking it towards a wastebasket. “Do you answer all yes or no questions like that?”

Doug laughed. He settled on his side and drew Kirill’s back to his chest with an arm around his waist, mimicking the position they’d woken up in. “Ask me another and find out.”

Several new questions tumbled to the forefront of Kirill’s mind. He no longer had the excuse of being drunk, but Doug’s palm was curled possessively over his stomach, and Kirill was distractedly tracing meaningless patterns over the back of that hand.

So, even sober, he blurted out the most embarrassing question that came to mind.

“Do you like me?”

Doug laughed again. He tried to stifle it, biting his lip and ducking his head to Kirill’s shoulder, but his voice was full of amusement when he said, “Do you think I had sex with you just to prove I have sex?”

“Well, _did_ you?”

“Kirill.” Doug pressed a kiss to his nape. “I like you. I’d like to go out with you.”

“Oh,” Kirill said, pleased. “Well. Good.”

“Actually,” Doug continued. “I thought I was already going out with you.”

Kirill froze.

 

“He thought _I_ didn’t fuck!” Kirill announced as he barged into Derick’s bar. He marched straight over to the booth where Derick and Valery were sitting, with a ledger book open in front of them.

Derick and Valery exchanged a look before turning to Kirill as he slid onto the bench across from them.

“We’re talking about Doug?” Valery guessed.

“He thought we’d been going out for months.” Kirill thunked his forehead against the table without even bringing up his arms to cushion the impact. It sounded too ridiculous to believe now that he was saying it out loud, but he had to tell someone. It was way too ludicrous to keep inside of his head. “He just thought that I wasn’t into sex, or that I wasn’t into sex before marriage. And he was too polite or understanding or lazy to actually ask.”

A stunned, bewildered silence stretched over the next minute until Valery reached out and gave Kirill’s head a sympathetic pat.

“You cleared things up?” Valery asked.

Kirill nodded without lifting his head from the table.

“So, everything is okay.”

Kirill groaned.

“Not okay?”

“We could have been having sex for months, Valery.” Kirill propped his chin up on the table, pouting. “Really, _really_ good sex.”

“How do you know Doug is good at—” Derick cut himself off and blinked. “Oh, I see. Valery? Valery, help. I can’t stop seeing it.”

“Kirill,” Valery said. “Maybe you should be making up for lost time.”

It was a very gentle, if unsubtle, way of saying _please leave before you further traumatize my boyfriend_.

But it was also a very good idea.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/endokusai)


End file.
